


In The Blizzard

by spitecentral



Series: Neopronoun Series [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Introspection, Neopronouns, Nonbinary Scar, Pre-Series, death of a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 19:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19874518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spitecentral/pseuds/spitecentral
Summary: The person who'd later become known as Scar trudges through the Briggs mountains to hide hir brother's research.Part of a series centered around characters using neopronouns, featuring zie/hir Scar.





	In The Blizzard

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, PLEASE let me know if I made grammar mistakes in using the neopronouns, I'm notoriously bad at that and part of the reason I started this series is to force me to get better at it. 
> 
> Second of all, PLEASE let me know if I got any canon details wrong; I don't think canon ever really went in depth on the why/how/when Scar hid hir brother's research in Briggs, but my memory of the Briggs arc is pretty fuzzy, so it's very possible I got details wrong. 
> 
> Third, this would be a good time to mention that everything I write takes place in an alternate universe where Scar wasn't the one to kill the Rockbells unless I explicitly state otherwise. This is not me stating otherwise.

The snow and ice of the Briggs mountains were so alien to hir, so different from Ishval, that zie could scarcely place hirself in it. Every step felt stolen, fake, and zie glanced back at hir trail to reassure hirself zie was indeed here. That zie wouldn't wake up in hir house, overwhelming heat pressing against every inch of hir body, hir brother snoring beside hir. The cold enveloped hir, had slowly begone to do so hours ago, and zie knew that zie had to find shelter soon, or zie'd only add to the silence of this mountain. For now, though, zie kept putting hir feet in front of each other, plowing through the snow, making hir way through this foreign desert.

The wind picked up, and a blizzard was brewing.

The scars on hir face ached, and hir legs felt like lead, and in hir pocket amidst the cold, the notebook burned. 

Zie'd thought of throwing it away. Zie'd thought of nothing else, and zie thought about it again as the snow heaped on hir shoulders. Zie'd almost done it, too, in the hours afterwards, struggling away from the carnage of the makeshift hospital, carrying a child in hir arms when zie knew he wouldn't make it through the night. The notebook had hit hir shoulders every time zie walked, and hir robes were getting tainted with the boy's blood, and the bandages on hir face had gotten drenched when the wound reopened, the sun scorching hir shoulders and the heat taking hir breath away. And then the child in hir arms let out a shock of breath, mouth opening only to have blood stream out, and went still. Hir legs fell through, letting the body roll into the sand, and curled up tight into a ball and cried. Zie'd cried and scream and screamed, deafening against the silence of the desert, hir fists balled as zie pounded into the sand. 

Then zie'd taken the notebook, ready to rip it to pieces, to bury it in the sand, to let the pages drown in blood. But when zie actually held it in hir hands, when zie opened it to see hir brother's handwriting, all zie could do was sob. 

Zie'd buried the boy in the sand and prayed to Ishvalla to grant the boy a safe passage to the afterlife, in spite of the incomplete funeral rites. Zie'd left the grave unmarked. 

When zie left, the notebook sat safely against hir chest. 

There'd been moments, since then; washing the blood of hir hands after breaking through the blockade to get into Amestris proper; seeing a parade of state alchemists march back from Ishval, hailed as heroes; near delirious from hunger on a train to the north. But after that first time, zie knew that zie'd never do it. And by now, struggling through this foreign landscape, with so much blood on hir hands that zie knew Ishvalla would never again accept hir prayers (let alone hir soul), zie couldn't even pretend like zie was any less blasphemous, any less dangerous than the book in hir pocket. 

It was hard to see in the blizzard, but finally, zie spotted a little brown hut, off in the white distance. Hir breath stoked, and zie willed hirself to go faster. Soon, hir hand found the hard wood, grabbing blindly for the knocker, and pushed the door open. Zie fell inside, and the wind slammed the door shut. 

For a moment, zie just lay there, hir muscles aching and shaking. Then zie took a deep breath and pushed hirself up, blinking rapidly in an attempt to banish the bleariness from hir eyes. Zie didn't quite succeed; hir vision stayed somewhat blurry, but zie still managed to take an inventory of the hut. 

It was decrepit, the ceiling nearly caving in, and filthy, dust heaping on the floor and rubble laying everywhere and nowhere. Aside from the dirt, it contained nothing but a bed with no mattress, a threadbare blanket, a chair, a table, and a fireplace with no wood. 

Zie got up on shaky legs, leaning against the wall for support, and made hir way to the chair. With a _crack_ , it broke in bits, an zie threw the pieces into the fireplace. Zie grabbed a box of matches from hir pocket, and in one, two, three tries, a little flame bloomed. Within a few minutes, zie had a fire. 

Sighing, zie held hir hands before the fireplace, feeling the warmth spread through hir skin. Zie allowed hirself to sit and bask for a few minutes, before forcing hirself to take off hir wet clothes, and grab the blanket. Zie paused, blanket wrapped around hir body, hesitating, then trudged over to the clothes to fish out the journal. The book had managed to make it through the blizzard, the pages barely even damp, and deep in hir chest, there was something like relief. Carefully, zie placed it next to the fireplace, hands still shaking from the cold. Then, finally, zie sank down on the ground before the fire, asleep barely after hitting the ground. 

Years later, zie entrusted the research to a war criminal and a princess. Years later, zie plowed through the snow of the same mountains, accompanied by a ragtag group of misfits and criminals, to reach a different cabin. And when Mei, little 10-year-old Mei, who crossed a scorching desert to save her family, finally managed to decipher the code hir brother had left behind, zie'd felt hope bloom in hir chest for the first time in years. 

The notebook was blasphemous and dangerous, and so was zie, and so were almost all of the people gathered here, but maybe, somehow, they could still save a country, and with it, themselves.


End file.
